


Collected Mini-fic

by justbolts



Category: Vassalord
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Cyborg Vampires, F/F, M/M, Pre-Canon, Suggestive Themes, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 18:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbolts/pseuds/justbolts
Summary: A collection of ficlets originally written on Twitter and collected together.  Mostly canon-compliant character reflections.





	Collected Mini-fic

**Author's Note:**

> Re-post, originally written in 2009.

  * Rayflo had been oddly fond of the 60s, probably because he barely remembered them. He did recall there being an indecent amount of drugged young men and women available for an occasional nibble. Which explained the not remembering part, come to think of it. 

But if asked, he would say his favorite era was the 1940s. And then he would slant his shoulders and quirk his lips and look at Chris and even though they both knew he was lying, his little Cherry never failed to turn bright red and sputter charmingly.

  * The first time, the very, very first time, Chris pulls his teeth free to ask, "Did it hurt?" 

And Rayflo only giggles, not because it doesn't, but because his Cherry sounds so hungry and regretful at once. So Rayflo laughs and guides Chris's mouth down to yet-unbitten flesh.

Chris never asks again.

  * Rayfell wanders sometimes, it's true. She's easily turned by a pretty plump thigh and a full set of lovely, soft tits. When lush lips, painted in all shades of peach and pink and red, lift in inviting smiles - and oh, does she get invitations - it is so very hard to resist. So sometimes she doesn't and sometimes she doesn't resist several times in a row, and well, perhaps Cheryl is right in getting a bit testy. 

Rayfell spends a lot more time apologizing, but that's fine, that's what you do when you're in love. You kneel and beg and plead and eventually you're forgiven. Rayfell doesn't mind. She feels the snugness of Cheryl's leash around her neck and she smiles under her hair, because her leashes are tighter. She isn't like Rayflo, to let a beloved child slip through her fingers.

So she'll beg and cry and think of Cheryl when someone else's flesh is against her tongue, parting before her teeth, and wait until her girl is grown.

It's what you do, when you're in love.

  * Moonlight drips over the windowsill, stretches across the floor, touches the backs of his thighs in a splash of silver. One, two, three bite marks are outlined in the pale light, still damp and weeping slightly from the pull of a hungry mouth. Amid the rumbled sheets that trail across his body in a parody of decency, Master lays like a well-used whore, limbs loose with exhaustion, eyes lidded. Chris brings one hand to his Master's partially bared neck, to brush aside the hair that clings to bloody punctures, and Master's lips purse invitingly. 

It's a tease, a game, but still an offering of intimacy beyond the breaking of skin beneath teeth and Chris tells himself "I'll never want that", even as he thinks "it would break me".

So instead Chris turns away, from this tease as from all others, annoyed and humiliated and wondering at his renewed hunger.

  * Barry sings like a child, "Addy, Addy, precious Addy," and paints lines of red on the walls, the grass, the ground, wherever their game has come to it's usual end. 

Barry's voice is an angel's voice, his touch brimstone and fire. He pulls free bones and realigns tendons, sucks them clean with his pretty, pretty mouth, and kisses sweetly as he put them back.

"Addy, Addy," he says, and the name drips into Rayflo's ears like a poison.





End file.
